


Voices

by Cherry101



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with an okay ending, Anxiety, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Yuri Plisetsky-centric, very minor though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 22:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11769582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherry101/pseuds/Cherry101
Summary: The voices haunt him throughout the day and torment him at night.He spends each waking moment wondering if maybe they're right - if none of them really want him around, if maybe he should just leave.He doesn't, of course. He can't. Skating is his life, and there's no way he can just quit because his stupid anxiety is acting up again. That isn't… that isn't how it works.





	Voices

**Author's Note:**

> AKA Cherry self-projects her problems onto her favorite character. 
> 
> Well... This, much like Shards of a Broken Heart, started from a simple idea and then evolved out of my control. It's... Yeah? 
> 
> Warnings: vague references to self harm and suicidal thoughts. And just anxiety in general.
> 
> Enjoy?

The anxiety always hit him at the strangest places, at the strangest times.

 

First, it would be in his dreams. 

 

Yuri doesn't dream much - usually, he’s so exhausted he immediately falls into a deep sleep at night, if he sleeps at all. When he does dream, they come in small flashes he barely remembers, come morning time.

 

However, anxiety-induced dreams are different. He always remembers the visions that flash over in his mind, taunting him.

 

The jeering voices.

 

_ “Everyone knows my Yuuri is the best Yuri. It's common fact,” Viktor sneers, pulling the Japanese man closer. _

 

_ “Yeah. I'm a far better skater than you. And I'm not the one who was given a nickname, was I?” Yuuri adds, glaring down at Yuri before tucking his head in Viktor's neck. _

 

_ “I only tolerate you because I'm bored.” Mila remarks, her tone cold, “You're the youngest. I don't actually want you around or anything.”  _

 

_ “I only took you in because I pitied you.” Yakov growls. _

 

_ “You are nothing compared to me.” JJ boasts, head held high. _

 

_ “You're so foul.” Phichit gasps, “I don't even want you in my ice show! You're an awful person. My Yuuri is way better.” _

 

_ His mother stands over him, “I never wanted a son, especially one as unruly as you. I'm glad your father is dead - at least he doesn't have to see what a disgrace you've become.”  _

 

_ Otabek, looking at him with pity-filled eyes, “Why would I want to be friends with you? A second-rate skater? It was all out of pity. I would never actually like you.”  _

 

The voices haunt him throughout the day and torment him at night.

 

He spends each waking moment wondering if maybe they're right - if none of them really want him around, if maybe he should just  _ leave. _

 

He doesn't, of course. He can't. Skating is his life, and there's no way he can just  _ quit  _ because his stupid anxiety is acting up again. That isn't… that isn't how it works. 

 

Once, just once, he steals a small knife from Lilia’s kitchen and takes it to his skin. The marks they make are thin and shallow - not even enough to draw blood. He can't do it.

 

The knife is returned, the next day.

 

The voices creep into his head when he's skating, causing him to flub a jump. 

 

They whisper dark thoughts when he’s alone, wondering if  _ maybe the world would be better without him. _

 

Yuri starts second-guessing himself. Suddenly, he seems like the laughingstock of the skating world. 

 

“ _ Poor Yuri,”  _ The figures of his anxiety-induced imagination say, gazing down on him with those sympathetic glances he absolutely despises,  _ “Just look at him. He's nothing. Nobody wants to be friends with him.”  _

 

The worst of it comes during one of the Grand Prix qualifiers. Technically, he shouldn't be there - he isn't competing at that event - but Viktor is and Otabek is and he needs some physical reassurance that he isn't just a waste of space. 

 

After Otabek skates, he joins Yuri in the bleachers. 

 

And then the thoughts come in.

 

_ “He probably only came out of curtesy.”  _

 

“ _ Why would he willingly sit with you?” _

 

_ “You should just disappear, so he doesn't have to pretend anymore.” _

 

_ “Leave.” _

 

_ “Go away.”  _

 

_ “Nobody wants you around.”  _

 

The voices dig into him, and suddenly he can't breathe. Yuri grips the seat in front of him, gasping for air that he can't reach, all the while his chest aches and his head feels so  _ heavy and he just can’t-  _

 

“Yuri?”

 

Otabek places a hand on his back, and the physical touch seems to help. Yuri manages to calm himself, taking deep breaths and allowing himself to relax.

 

“Sorry,” He says, in response to a worried Otabek, “I don't know what happened.”

 

Later, he learns that he just went through his first anxiety attack, and if that's what they were like, he felt guilty for yelling at Yuuri during one. 

 

The voices back off for a little while, but then they return in full ferocity, plaguing him constantly. 

 

He can't sleep at night without nightmares forcing him back out of sleep.

 

He can't skate during the day without messing up his jumps and routines. 

 

Yakov seems worried, but Yuri knows better.

 

_ “He's glad you're doing so poorly. He finally has a chance to get rid of you.”  _

 

For once, Yuri agrees with his thoughts.

 

Yakov isn't the only one worried. Viktor and Yuuri attempt to approach him, but Yuri pushes them away. The voices grow too strong around them, and he just wants the thoughts to  _ go away. _

 

And if that means completely isolating himself…

 

...he’ll do it.

 

His appetite slows, until food itself isn't appealing and besides, without the skating to keep him in shape, he has to keep his weight down  _ somehow. _

 

He and Otabek text each other frequently, but Yuri starts taking longer and longer to reply. Eventually, he doesn't see the appeal in that, either. 

 

_ Might as well give him another reason to hate me.  _

 

This time, the thought is all his own.

 

The only time he ever breaks down is with his grandfather, who he ends up visiting after officially announcing that he's taking off a season. 

 

Yakov isn't happy with his decision, but until he learns how to keep those damn voices at bay, he can't skate. Not without hurting himself. 

 

_ “Although maybe it's for the better that you hurt yourself. You can finally leave the world of skating behind, like you never existed in the first place.” _

 

Once, while at his grandfather's, he wonders how many people would actually care if he swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills. 

 

_ It would be so easy.  _ He thinks,  _ nobody would even notice.  _

 

After minutes on thinking of it, though, his grandfather comes in fretfully, obviously worried.

 

The thought of leaving his grandfather alone - that he had actually  _ contemplated it _ \- sends Yuri to tears. 

 

_ “I'm sorry,”  _ He sobs over and over again, “ _ I'm sorry.”  _

 

His grandfather doesn't press for answers, but he does hold Yuri tightly to his chest.

 

“ _ It's alright, Yuratchka. I'll always love you, no matter what.”  _ He promises, as if he knows somehow that Yuri doubts his love. 

 

After that, things get a little easier. 

 

Yuri forces his anxiety down. When the voices murmur, he purposefully ignores them. 

 

He starts texting Otabek again. 

 

He finally regains his appetite. 

 

Things get better. 

 

It's as if the knowledge that someone, at least  _ one person on this whole goddamn Earth _ , will always love him chases away his bad thoughts. 

 

And while sometimes, he slips back into the world of anxiety,  _ like when he and Otabek started dating and they got into their first fight… _

 

He knows that his grandfather loves him. That Beka does love him. That he does have friends. 

  
And for once, the voices are silent. 


End file.
